Surprised at his sudden recollection of this sanskrit Brihad-aaranyak-Upanishad (1.3.28) shlok, his mind wandered to the mantra's source. He only knew that this oldest Upanishad was contained within the Shatpath Brahmana of the Shukla Yajurved.

'He must be freed,' a thought spoke inside his head, but his reason countered, 'He is happy here. He is already free. This is a free country.'

'He must go back to his roots,' the thought spoke again, 'or he'll die. Therein lies his freedom. And the freedom of the knowledge within him and of his spirit.'

And then it was gone. Suddenly. As suddenly, as it had arrived.

Leaving him baffled and still at sea. Completely.

He searched for the shores but they lay beyond his vision.

'But why?' he battled, disoriented again.

'Mirrored here, may our lives tell your story,' the hymn sang in his little head as he gradually knew peace that night.

Sleep silently crept up on him and cradled him away from worries. Far away. Far, far away. Into a foreign land, that he had never seen before.